The Reader of Books
by Kittiquin
Summary: She was the last of her kind, thought to be lost to the world of shadows. Draco doesn’t know what to do or what to think. Should he care? Does he care? What the hell is going on?
1. Sleepless

**The Reader of Books******

_Disclaimer: I own all!!!!__ (Except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures, from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)_

A/N: Ok this is actually a rewrite of my old story, with a lot of **enormous** differences… so enjoy… (Flames will be taken preferably with marshmallows… mmm marshmallows…)

~^~^~Chapter One – Sleepless~^~^~

"Why can't I sleep!" Draco's mind raged, fuming in the cold night air. Despite his words, he knew very well what kept him from his peaceful slumber as he sat out on his head boy balcony, wearing only his dressing gown and slippers. 

It had been seven years since Draco Malfoy had started at Hogwarts, but through the changing years he had scarcely changed from his first.

He still strutted through corridors, smirk well in place, and, of course, still despised "the dream team" Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was true his appearance had changed slightly, for he was now 5"9, gaining on six, but his silver- blonde slicked back hair was the very same, as were his silver grey eyes and sneering face. Though his reputation had principally changed, for instead of nearly every girl in school adoring him, they all did, despite what some might say. But despite the willingness of every girl in school to court him he dated few, and liked less. 

The dates weren't his choice anyway, they were his _fathers_. For this year he had been chosen head boy, a fact he would have been proud of, if he knew it hadn't all been fixed that way, like everything in his life. It was never his life. It was his fathers. He was a damn puppet.

 The head girl was, of course, Hermione granger, the school "genius". And, to his irritation, she had also been given the room next to his in the head boy and girl dorms. 

He thought Dumbledore would've known better.

If only someone else had been given that supposedly grand title of Head Girl! Even pansy Parkinson would have been better, though then he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep either, she would be wanting to join him. He shuddered at that thought. Over the years Draco had driven her off, saying he wanted to wait till marriage, but that had scarcely done anything, barely holding her off, and now that his father was thinking of his marriage…  Draco shrugged the thoughts away. If his father said he had to marry her, what could he do but obey?

It wasn't like he had a choice.

But unlike Draco, the school had radically changed. Attacks from Voldemort were becoming more and more powerful, and as Dumbledore weakened with age, the school under came sweeping changes. As they had in year 2, all students had to be accompanied with an adult between classes, and worst of all, the school houses were changed. Well, not exactly.

More and more space was needed in the castle for things unknown to the students, so the houses were moved. The Hufflepuffs were now with the Gryffindors, sharing a common room, dorms, classes, everything, and, to the disdain of many Slytherins, **_they_** had been paired with the Ravenclaws.

Not that it mattered to him. Draco had his own room now.

For nearly every class now it seemed, they were paired up, and for some all four houses were put in the same classroom. Luckily space wasn't as much a problem anymore, because the school was slowly emptying, as more and more students left, for fear of Voldemorts wrath.

Every summer holidays, less students returned, and teachers as well. Some had gone off to fight Voldemort, some joined him. But most it seemed, were in hiding, praying Voldemort would pass their houses by every night as the Deatheaters swept through the darkness, searching for new members or helpless muggles.

Draco almost felt sorry for them, the teachers, the muggles, all those who had died, and those to soon witness their fate. Almost.

After so many years, Dumbledore had finally let Snape teach the defence against the dark arts to the students, there was no one else there to take the place, and as Voldemorts forces grew stronger, it was needed more than ever, whereas Dumbledore had never thought potions essential for a wizard. They still had classes on it, of course, but less. 

Students, teachers, muggles and wizards alike feared for their lives. Even Voldemorts own followers were not safe from the dark lord.

But Draco did not fear. Not much point. His life was not his to lose. In only 8 months he would be leaving this school forever, going out into the world to find his "destiny".  But he already knew his fate. He would be a death eater, as his father wished, be forced into a marriage with a woman he would most surely hate and either rule with the dark lord when they took over, or be killed with the nameless thousands of death eaters when their time came.

It was as simple as that. Or at least it was supposed to be.

Draco checked his watch irritably to find it wasn't there. Cursing he walked back to his room, searching for where it could have gone.

Ah, lying on his floor, twined in his silver-green striped tie, amiss the mess on the floor. Somehow it felt meaningful, as if maybe it was supposed to represent him or something. 

Or maybe his watch was tangled in his tie.

Picking it up, he stared at the time, blinking in the dark, clouded night. 

2:55 AM.

Almost three. Just wonderful. 

Five more hours till the day would start. Five more hours of waiting, moping, and contemplating suicide. Yay.

He wished he could scream. Just break this goddamn silence, the suffocating, enveloping hush, laying thickly over the school, the forest, the world. He tried to speak, break the tension in the air, the pressure bearing down. But his voice was lost.

Trying to scream, he cried out silently in the moonlight. What was wrong with him? He hated her, but he had to know, **why?**

For unlike any other girl at school, she seemed immune to him. Money, power, fame. She just ignored them, and him. Possibly it was because she had a boyfriend, Seamus, but that had never stopped him before. 

He had thought it was love, ever since last year, when she punched him in the face. I know, very romantic. 

For most guys, this would turn them off a girl, but Draco was not like "most guys". It had felt good to him, having a girl not wanting him for once, like so many others did. He had thought he was in love, but now… it seemed he was out of love, or maybe he had been fooling himself. He had no feelings left for Hermione, but so many questions.

He just wanted to know why. Why when everybody else loved him she did not? How could she be supposed genius, yet never see so many things?

But he did not love her. That would have made it so much easier.

But instead of Hermione, his thoughts revolved around someone else. Ethany. He couldn't even remember her last name anymore.

 Ethany, was the reason he could not sleep. It didn't make sense. Draco didn't even know her.

All he could remember were her beginnings at the school. Ethany had joined Hogwarts at the end of Draco's fifth year, but nobody much had noticed, and she had done little but read since. Even Hermione, who was more than well known for her obsession with books, didn't come close to the amount of reading of that girl.

According to Dumbledore, she had been schooled at a small academy for witches in Scotland, but Draco doubted the likelihood of the story. There was always something strange about her. She was Teflon coated, eyes in the corridor slid off her, she left no trail. Nobody much asked any questions, of course. At the time hero-boy was in the hospital wing, after killing his godfather, so nobody had enough words to ask about some new girl when there was so much gossip fluttering around.

Of course, when she first joined, everyone sort of cared, probably guessing that she had something out of the ordinary with her, for it was seldom someone transferred to Hogwarts from another school, let alone at the end of the year, but eventually they found she had no personality, nothing. She wanted to be left alone, and they wanted to leave her alone, preferring to stick to their own kind. What kind she was they did not know. They didn't want to know.

Her face was seldom seen over the cover of her book, but Draco's mind wandered to a pale face, delicate hands. But anything else about her was swallowed up, deep into the abyss of his mind.

He struggled to focus, but all his mind would come up with was dark hair and an irritable way of responding if anyone interrupted her. But that happened seldom. Nobody seemed knew anything about her, and they were more than happy with that.

She had no friends he knew of, no enemies, not even that person you talk to occasionally. She was alone.

After a while, he realised the sun was rising, and decided to go down to the great hall for breakfast, an errand, something to consume the wearisome time that filled his sleepless nights.

The hall was empty it seemed, the four tables laden with breakfast. But there, hidden in a dark, enclosed corner of the Ravenclaw table… it was Her.

She was alone, as always, chestnut hair forming a curtain around her face, book in hand. He wondered what she would do if someone walked up to her, talked to her. It had never happened before.

He slowly walked over, his mind turning over words, wondering desperately what to say. But something else got there first.

A tiny owl, carrying a letter bigger than itself, spiralling down from the enchanted ceiling. It perched on the rim of her goblet, waiting for some kind of response, attention. It received none. She continued to silently read, her expression covered by the book, her unseen eyes never wavering. The minutes ticked on, and still she sat, still the bird perched, and still there Draco stood, looking stupider by the second.

 Finally, after an eternity of stagnance, she extended her hand to take a drink, and the bird cheerfully pecked at her wrist, believing her attention directed towards it.

Startled green eyes glanced up, surprised.

Green eyes, Draco's startled mind processed, her eyes are green. Bright green eyes, so clear they made potters look dull. He hadn't expected them to be so… alive. He had expected dull, muted eyes, giving him an unguarded pathway into a dull mind, obsessed with books. But they were bright, intense, and they gave away no secrets.

 She silently grasped the note, letting the owl fly back to its unknown possessor. Even as she opened the letter her book covered her face, allowing nothing but her eyes to shine through. 

She read the letter without a sound, as she seemingly did everything, and when finished, threw it to the side, into the fireplace, as if it was no concern to her. But those eyes showed something else, but they were quickly hidden again, veiled by her book. He saw her head flicker to the side nervously. She was making sure the letter was burning.

And so quickly it was over, leaving him standing there, looking like an idiot. He couldn't walk up to her. Not now. He didn't know why, but he knew it was important. He couldn't.

And with that he left, walking back through the arch he had entered only minutes ago.

_______________________

He walked back slowly, the deserted corridors echoing every step until the castle seemed to resound with them, echoing into every room. Or maybe it was all in his head. Draco walked back to his room, his mind drifting, his senses… it was strange. Unreal.

And then he was there. Sir Gorbaid's portrait hung low on the wall, slightly crooked. Draco desperately searched his mind for the password, but nothing came. Well what could he do now? **He couldn't get in. **He wondered if kicking it would help.

Probably not. But it was worth a try… 

But before he could even take a run up it opened before him.

"Huh?" he wondered. Then she stepped out. Unlike Draco, Hermione hadn't changed **at all **through the past years. She was still smart, ugly and annoying.

"What are _you_ doing here" she scowled, glaring at him for no particular reason. Ignoring her he swept inside to the small common room, cold marble floors, not helped by the empty hearth. But he barely noticed. 

In a trance, Draco walked up the spiralling staircase to his room, and for the first time in three days, slept.

________________________

He woke up 3 hours later, his face fused to the pillow, tangled in sheets. 

"Wha..." he started, ending it quickly as he rolled out of the bed, hitting the ground with a crash.

"Crap" he muttered, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. He blearily stared at his watch, taking minutes for it to sink in.

9:10

He was already late for class, and of course he was supposed to set a **good** example. If he didn't he would face his father, and they would have one of their "little talks". Those talks normally ended with a curse and a lot of pain. 

So he had to work hard every day of his life, had to live up to the unliveable standards to make his father "proud". Screw that. 

_Cant I even do anything without my father taking part?_, He thought, swearing as he bumped into a girl while hurrying down the corridor.

"Oh, I'm-" she started, spinning around.

He was already gone, off down the corridor.

Draco ran, bumping into people, statues, teachers. It didn't really matter. Shouts echoed down the corridors behind him. He was supposed to be setting a good example, which usually didn't involve doing a single thing he was. But who cared? He already had the damn job and the shiny little badge that came with it.

 Of course if it wasn't for his father he would have never even have been prefect, let alone head boy, Dumbledore favoured the Gryffindors too much, and he was a rather notorious enemy of Gryffindor.

He leant down to check his watch.

9:15

Shit. 15 minutes late. McGonagall would murder him. Again.

Flying down the corridor, he rammed into the large wooden door, shoving it open. Aware that every eye in the room was on him he hurried forward with his usual strut, to his seat at the back with Crabbe and Goyle, while McGonagall instantly fixed him with her iceberg-that-sunk-the-titanic look. 

He was probably supposed to care.

 He had been receiving **that **look for years after years, by now he was totally immune to the glare that made most students tremble. 

"Sorry I'm late Professor McGonagall" he drawled, putting on his innocent look. It didn't work.

"You're a prefect Mr. Malfoy! You should be setting an **example**," she said, putting more disgust into her voice than even Draco could muster.

He just sat there and stared back at her blankly, as always, tipping back his chair against the back wall.

"As I was saying before Mr. Malfoy **interrupted**," she said, glaring at him, "today we shall be transforming our screech owls to tabby cats. I assume you have all got your notes?" 

_On and on and on and on and on_, Draco thought. _Does she ever shut up?_, It seemed not, because she was _still_ talking. Hearing his name he looked up but of course it was just McGonagall droning on about how "if Draco had been here, he would of course know…". 

Even if he had been there it's not like he would have listened. Or cared.

 _I hate my life_, Draco thought gloomily, wondering how much longer Professor McGonagall could drone on.

There will be more later! Review please!!!! PLEASE!!! (I don't mind flames, but give me a reason, ok? ok.)


	2. Still Sleepless

The Reader of Books  
  
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (Except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,  
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is  
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)  
  
A/N: Ok this is actually a rewrite of my old story, and blah, blah, blah . (Flames will be taken preferably with marshmallows. mmm marshmallows.)  
  
~^~^~Chapter Two - Still Sleepless~^~^~  
  
Another bad dream, another sleepless night.  
  
He sighed in exasperation. Draco wouldn't be sleeping tonight, *again*. So he may as well do something with a possible hint of fun, and probably a lot of depression.  
  
But despair was good. He could wrap himself in it, hide again from everything that plagues the silent, sleepless nights. If only.  
  
It would be so easy to stop resisting, stop fighting it. Sink into oblivion and forget this crap and die.  
  
But his own mind wouldn't let him sink, not like that. He had to keep on living, pretend to at least. Simply because his father said so. He decided Draco's days, his happiness, and his life. But Draco's nights and his grief were his own. He could never take them.  
  
Most of the time Draco felt he feared happiness. The rest of the time he craved it. But no matter when or how it came, it always left, leaving him to wallow in self-pity once again.  
  
Happiness is just another butterfly, to float by and never be seen again, to die unseen and unheard. Nothing could destroy grief. It was impenetrable, even his father couldn't take it.  
  
Happiness dies. Anger burns out. Envy and Lust fade. Misery stays engraved into you, leaving its scars to haunt you.  
  
Draco stood up, no longer lying meanlessly on the bed. He wouldn't be sleeping. Not tonight.  
  
Picking himself from the sheets, sticky from sweat on the warm night, and pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk.  
  
An invisibility cloak. After years of begging his father, he had finally gotten it, another bribe to keep him quiet, to just shut Draco up.  
  
His father did a lot of things for that reason. But Draco had the advantage and he liked it to stay that way. If he was on top the ones underneath could never hurt him. At least that's what he tried to tell himself.  
  
It would be another night of wandering, sliding down long corridors, another insubstantial shadow. He loved this cloak.  
  
He could roam the castle freely at night whenever he chose, wherever, and see anyone he wanted with their guard down, in the way you never really saw them. You could never see someone truly until you saw them when they thought you couldn't. You could get to know someone like that, without ever speaking a word. It was all written on their face when they thought no one could see.  
  
Draco wandered out through the cool, draughty corridors. The portraits all slept now, slow wheezing breaths of who knows what blew from their portraits, making no draft, no breeze. He never really understood how the figures in the portraits worked.  
  
Could they die? Did they have thoughts and feelings? Did they eat? How? When? Could they even digest???  
  
But he didn't exactly expect an answer to the questions. Maybe it was just one of those things that just happen. Who knows why?  
  
Who cares?  
  
He was as insubstantial as a handful of moonlight. Lavender drifted past, her arms around the waist of some handsome Ravenclaw he didn't know. Her eyes were dreamy and unfocused, lost in her happy world with the one she loved. Draco felt envy rise inside him. How dare she have love when he didn't? How dare she be happy when he was so unhappy?  
  
When he finally saw Her, he thought he was hallucinating. What were the chances of the one who occupied his very thoughts, and kept him from his bed wandering the castle at this time?  
  
But it was her, slipping from behind a statue in absolute silence.  
  
Ethany.  
  
Brown hair, black in the darkness, was ruffled into waves, robes askew on narrow shoulders, green eyes sparkled with their own ghostly light, setting all else of her face in shadow. Draco stalked her along the corridor, holding his breath as he walked alongside. He could almost touch her. Of course he never would, but just the thought. he shivered in the warm air.  
  
He would never touch her.  
  
She was standing there, all guards down, bookless. Draco saw her eyes unguarded for once, glittering with light reflected from nowhere. He watched as her face was alternately illuminated and cast into shadow by the pools of moonlight flooding in from dark windows.  
  
Yet despite her dishevelled appearance she seemed serene as ever, no worries. Her eyes said something different.  
  
For once they showed something else, something inside her. They showed a tortured soul he wasn't supposed to know about. He didn't want to know.  
  
Her eyes were exposed, showing a soul. He had never have thought of her with a soul. He thought of her with a book.  
  
She didn't hide in the shadows, but created her own darkness, shielding herself but not hiding. She didn't know there was anything to hide from.  
  
Ethany was nervous, jumpy, shivering in the warm air. Something wasn't right. She rubbed her hands together in the darkness, as if trying to warm them. There was no cold.  
  
She was doubtful, tormented. Like him. He wondered what she looked like happy. He doubted he would ever know.  
  
She was creeping along the corridor, trying to fold into herself, making a slight form tiny, bowing her head. She wanted to hide, but didn't.  
  
She suddenly tripped, sprawling on the stone floor. Draco stopped himself from helping her up. He wasn't supposed to be here.  
  
A tiny cry escaped her lips, breaking the silence of the castle. She picked herself up slowly, hesitatingly, staring at something on her arm. As if in slow motion, he saw her foot slide along the floor, pulling the invisibility cloak.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
_____________________  
  
Her foot tore the cloak from him, sliding it along the floor into the door of an unlocked classroom.  
  
*I should run.* Draco's thoughts responded sluggishly, but it was too late. She had seen him, and running wouldn't exactly help. She looked like she was about to scream, throw up or cry. Instead she decided to be extremely pissed off.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, stalking me?" her voice was quiet, dripping with spite.  
  
An insane eternity passed. Nothing moved, at all.  
  
"How long have you been following me?" she asked again, calmer.  
  
"A while" he mumbled, staring guiltily at his shoes.  
  
"But. I mean. why. why were you following me!" she said, obviously trying to sound angry. But anger just wasn't there. She just looked. sad.  
  
"I saw you walking along. you didn't look well so." ok plan B. He would act as he always did. Not a great plan, but better than his other plan, throw up on her shoes.  
  
"You looked as though you would throw up, and I'm on detention tomorrow. Knowing filch he'll leave it there all day" he drawled, feeling his familiar sneer come into place. This was how he worked the "Malfoy magic". Act as though you were working for yourself, which didn't include caring the slightest about her.  
  
He wanted to be nice to her. He couldn't. So he'd be a Malfoy.  
  
"You know this is the first time I've actually seen your face you know that? You're always," he said, with the 'good old' sneer, "reading", drawling it out like it was something foul.  
  
This was probably the closest thing to a chance he had to show her he might possibly actually have some kind of feeling for her. He knew he shouldn't waste it. But of course he would. Even he couldn't stop himself.  
  
Not that he didn't try. His mind ordered him to stop, remember. This was as close as a chance he was going to get with her. He tried not to mess it up like he always did.  
  
He was at a point where he was pleading with himself. That normally wasn't a good sign.  
  
But old habits die hard, and no matter how he tried, from so long shielding himself, the shield wouldn't come down. He couldn't even show her some sympathy. All he could do was lower his sneer slightly and stare back at his shoes.  
  
She was still working on being mad at him, but suddenly, without warning, her face crumpled into a sob, and she fell to the ground once more. Finally he got his face to work, and let whatever sympathy he could show. It wasn't much.  
  
He held a hand out to help her up. She didn't take it.  
  
"What's wrong with you." he muttered, looking away from even his shoes.  
  
She scowled, pulling herself up, to leave his hand dangling uselessly in the stagnant air.  
  
"What was in that letter anyway?" he asked, glancing slightly at her. Bad choice. She scowled, stepping away.  
  
She stared at him, eyes glowing with intensity in the shadowed corridor.  
  
"You know, I just said the stalking thing to make you go away. I mean. I" she looked away, straightening her robes to something resembling orderly. She was tiny underneath, a narrow shouldered frame hidden in bulky robes, at least two sizes too big.  
  
"Just. leave me alone. Go stalk. Padma. "  
  
"Padma?" Draco asked, his left eyebrow steadily rising. "Padma Patil?"  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She's." Ethany tried to think of something nice to say about Padma. She could think of a couple of words to call her, touchy, prissy, giggling twit. but she somehow doubted that would make him really want to go out with her.  
  
Finally Ethany came out with, "she's pretty."  
  
"And?" Draco countered, his eyebrow finally risen to about a centimetre below his hairline.  
  
"And what?"  
  
"And what does she have that you don't?"  
  
Ethany's eyes blazed. He hadn't just called her pretty had he?  
  
Draco's eyebrow dropped, his eyes falling back down to his shoes.  
  
"Just go. Leave me alone." She said, staring disconsolately at the floor, the side table, the walls. Anywhere away from him.  
  
"What was in that letter?" too late Draco realized his mistake.  
  
How was he meant to know that if he wasn't watching her?  
  
She stared at him, intense eyes spitting malice.  
  
"You know I just said the stalking thing to make you go away," she said, an ironic smile starting to form, overriding anger.  
  
"Uh-huh" Draco muttered back, resuming staring at his shoes. "Well?"  
  
Ethany looked away again, staring back at the roof. He was busy looking at the floor, so there was nowhere else left to stare blankly.  
  
"Well what?" she replied, trying to sound indifferent, fighting to pretend her hands weren't shaking. This wasn't supposed to be happening.  
  
"Well what was in the letter?"  
  
"And I should tell you because?"  
  
"Because." Draco fought with himself to find a reason that didn't involve him killing her. "I don't know."  
  
"Just." Ethany faded off, knowing what she had to say, and hated the words. "Just go away".  
  
She slowly turned around, feeling every second ticking around her.  
  
Draco sighed. The only way to make her stay was to threaten her life. Right, that would make her like him.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
She smiled ruefully into the dark corridor ahead.  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"I'll. I'll." he couldn't get the words out.  
  
Ethany fought the temptation to turn around.  
  
"I'm not going to tell you!" was her only reply, fading down the corridor. She was nearly at the end.  
  
"Why not!" he shouted back, begging anything he could to stop her.  
  
"Well, I don't want to die!" She replied, finally stopping and turning her head around.  
  
"I won't kill you?" he offered, praying to his shoes she would stop.  
  
She laughed in reply, spinning around, her robes flying out from around her.  
  
"So this is the great evil of Slytherin?" she whispered, the silence, and the corridor drawing the words out around him.  
  
"This isn't my choice. I don't know what you know. Hell, I don't know what I know. But, trust me, running around in a mask killing defenceless people isn't as much fun as it seems"  
  
"And I have so many reasons to trust you" she whispered again, eyes hardened, all playfulness gone.  
  
Draco didn't look up from his shoes. They were far less confusing than she was.  
  
He shook his head, finally staring back at her.  
  
"Fuck this" he whispered into the night air, eyes meeting hers for the second time this long, confusing night.  
  
He turned and walked slowly, controlling every step with far more power than he thought he could ever have.  
  
Ethany sighed, blowing warm air into the stifling corridor.  
  
"I'm sorry." She whispered, not really wanting him to hear. She didn't forgive easily. He didn't even know he had to be forgiven.  
  
"About what?" Draco muttered, more anger than he felt escaping through his words.  
  
She sighed again, wishing this was just over. She hadn't talked to anyone really for about two years, and she wasn't used to it. Anybody watching it would have found the sight hilarious. They were alone.  
  
She stared back at the ground. Draco turned back around, resuming her post of staring at the roof.  
  
He stayed voiceless, stubbornly refusing to forgive her. Why, he didn't know, but he had to. "I don't have a choice." Draco said, finally cutting his own silence. "I don't like most muggles. That doesn't mean I want to run around in a mask murdering them! I am not my father, no matter what he wants to tell himself" he ended with a weary sigh.  
  
She smiled darkly, eyes lingering on the floor. She looked back up at him at the same time he looked down at her. Draco quickly stooped his head back down, coward as always. He wouldn't dare meet her eyes.  
  
She smiled on. Lowly the smile dropped, her eyes matching it, falling to the floor once again.  
  
"Like I have much of a choice," she muttered back to the still air. Draco got the feeling he wasn't supposed to have heard. Things had gotten very quiet. They both seemed very busy with their shoes.  
  
"You know, my shoes are telling me to talk to you. That's a bad sign, right?" he said, taking their advice. The shoes knew far better than he did.  
  
Ethany hesitated. "You talk to your shoes?"  
  
"You don't?"  
  
Again, silence.  
  
"Maybe we should stop staring at our shoes?" he suggested, wondering what else he could say.  
  
She didn't look up. Neither did he. Glancing up he saw her laughing, silently, looking back at him. He just couldn't help it.  
  
The laugh was infectious.  
  
But before long the laugh was gone and they were left back in silence.  
  
"You know, this is the first conversation I've had in like two years and we're not talking", she said, staring back into his eyes. For once he didn't look at his shoes.  
  
"Then talk," he said fighting the urge to look back down at his shoes. At the time, they were a lot easier to talk to than she was. "I suppose you could tell me all about your wonderful problems?" he suggested, glancing back up at her.  
  
Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say.  
  
"If I told you I'd have to kill you," she said, each word cutting the air, her voice toxic with sincerity.  
  
"Then kill me," he said, for once looking straight into her eyes. He so wished he hadn't.  
  
A silent tear crept tentatively down her face, leaving a thin trail of moonlight. She didn't say anything. Neither did he.  
  
"Well?" he asked, expecting anger. But she had none left.  
  
Ethany sighed and shook her head.  
  
"Not here. If someone hears.her words withered in her mouth. "I haven't even told Dumbledore yet."  
  
Draco nodded, wondering where they couldn't be overheard. Somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed. He knew one place. She would never go there.  
  
And even then, his father was probably monitoring his room. Actually, it was more than probable. But. wait. They wouldn't be watching the roofs.  
  
"This'll be really weird, but I think I know a place we won't be overheard."  
  
______________________________  
  
A/N: ok I know the stories strange, and it doesn't really make sense, but please review! Woohoo!!! Just as I was writing this I got 2 reviews!!!! *Explodes with happiness* oops. I exploded again. anyway thanks sooooooooooooooooo much!!! 


	3. Who are you?

The Reader of Books  
  
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,  
  
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is  
  
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)  
  
A/N: Ok this is actually a rewrite of my old story, with a lot of enormous differences. so enjoy. (Flames will be taken preferably with marshmallows. mmm marshmallows.)  
  
~^~^~Chapter Three - Who are you?~^~^~  
  
The wind whistled through the forbidden forest, a black haze creeping up to the very edges of Hagrids tiny hut, and climbing the unnameable legions of stairs to blow eerily through the open windows of the astronomy tower.  
  
He had come here before, when the sleepless nights drove him, into the cold hours of the night when the thoughts went to fast, to far. He came alone and left alone, as always, hiding from his reflection. Every day he saw it in the mirror, the pale face, silver hair.  
  
Every day he became his father again, and every night he ran alone through the dark corridors to hide from him.  
  
But Draco wasn't alone this time. Standing beside him, as far away a she could in the cramped stairwell, she stared out through the empty stone windows to the forbidden forest.  
  
Draco wondered if she felt the freezing indifference of the tower around them, if she could feel the moonlight silvering her back or the stars singing in the heavens above them. Probably not.  
  
The creature he saw her as didn't exist, couldn't except in his eyes. In his mind he had made mysterious, a riddle. Glorifying himself, pretending he would "decipher" her, and in the end there was nothing there beyond... well, he hadn't exactly worked out what was "beyond" yet.  
  
Not that it matters, he reasoned with himself. She was probably just another faceless creature, wearily treading her tracks to wherever.  
  
But. her eyes disagreed. There was something there, something. he couldn't explain it, even to himself.  
  
Yet he would never know unless they spoke.  
  
Even now, while the rest of the school sweltered in the strangely warm autumn night the tranquil tower froze, barren as always. As far as Draco's tormented memory could grasp it was never used beyond astronomy classes, though, despite the other nocturnal "uses" of many of the classrooms by students, the tower was always empty, excluding him.  
  
Or perhaps he was the basis for other student's avoidance of the tower. He wasn't exactly popular, even with the Slytherins, despite appearances. When all others left, so did they.  
  
They may as well be on a payroll for his friendship. But in the end did it matter? Did the End even matter? Did it mattering matter???  
  
___________________________  
  
"Emperassion" he ordered, flicking his wand around the tower. He felt the warmth trickle up his spine, no better than the cold.  
  
Ethany didn't even know what the hell she was still doing up here. she wasn't the type to trip over, meet Draco Malfoy in a corridor, scream at him for stalking her, find out his hidden secrets about his father then follow him up into a tower were he would probably murder her. She just wasn't.  
  
Who was that type anyway? Probably his type. and she was so not his type.  
  
Not that she wanted to be.  
  
___________________________  
  
"Well?" his voice interrupted her determined thoughts about how much she hated him.  
  
"Well what?" Ethany replied, determinedly staring away from him. If anyone else was watching it would have been hilarious, but as it was just the two of them it was just annoying.  
  
After an eternity of stifled calm she finally spoke, breaking the freezing walls of silence surrounding them.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked quietly, almost hoping he couldn't hear. Ethany doubted she'd want to know the answer.  
  
"What? I'm Dra-" he started, confused. She quietly shook her head, fending off the droplets of dew. They had been standing there a long time.  
  
"Not your name. Not what they call you. Who are you?"  
  
God. He hadn't even asked this question to himself. But she wouldn't let him go without an answer. Instead she stood there, hiding in her own little clump of shadows in the middle of the tower room.  
  
He slowly shook his head, but his silver-blonde slicked back hair didn't stir. Ethany wanted to mess it up, destroy the perfection. She always hated perfection.  
  
"Not here" he said, destroying her hazed images of his messy hair.  
  
Weird.  
  
He sounded almost. well, not mean. Or even spiteful. If she had trusted him before, he would have lost it by now. But she never trusted him. He looked down on even his own kind, the sneering disdainful purebloods. He spat on his own kind, the rich, the beautiful, the "purebloods".  
  
Ethany was "pure" but he wouldn't have known. She doubted he knew her name, but of course she knew his.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
When he met anyone's eyes other than his own in a mirror it was headline news. Not that that happened often. He was too busy with himself to even notice, let alone care about anyone else.  
  
He was a little cardboard cut out of his father.  
  
Somehow Lucius Malfoy had survived through the ministry, despite the evidence of his dark mark, regardless of his midnight "escapades" in a mask.  
  
Yet he was still in the ministry. Of course. He was rich, powerful and pureblood. And it seemed that was all that mattered.  
  
It probably had a lot to do with gold changing hands.  
  
And this rich, power-hungry, vile, filthy piece of wizard kind who had everything and more than he could ever want had taken all Ethany had, when she had nothing left.  
  
Only last night her mother had lived. Only hours ago her last breath, her last words rang through the air.  
  
She was dying, and she laughed, in her death, submerged in her own blood, surrounded by her slaughterers she laughed, leaving it to echo through the air.  
  
Ethany heard her mother's last words, and she screamed, yet in the silent dormitory no one heard her. She was unseen, unheard, and immovable. They would never hear. Her mother was dead and they would never see, never hear.  
  
But she wasn't coming back. There's no cure, magical or otherwise for death.  
  
But revenge couldn't hurt. Well more specifically, revenge would hurt. That was kind of the point.  
  
___________________________  
  
Slowly her mind strolled back to now. Then could wait for later.  
  
Draco was silently staring at her, watching the glassy eyes fill with tears. He wondered where she was, or at least where her mind was. She wasn't here.  
  
It took a while, but her eyes slowly returned from the world inside her mind to the world out of it.  
  
He held his hand out to her, for once his eyes truly meeting hers. Her eyes silently asked him what the hell he was doing.  
  
"Trust me I have no idea" Draco mumbled, wishing he could look away from her. "We can't talk here, we might be overheard." he faded off, not mentioning who would hear. She could guess on her own.  
  
"But then where."  
  
He silently pointed up. Her eyes glowed in the shadowed tower. Everywhere but her was lit up in moonlight. Only Ethany's eyes sparked bright.  
  
But of course, neither moved. Everything was halted, paused.  
  
He slowly checked his watch.  
  
4:23  
  
Only an hour left before dawn. he had to move, or at least an attempt.  
  
Slowly Ethany moved over to him. He once again held out his hand, to help her up. And once again, she ignored it. This must have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done.  
  
Well, other than that time he had gotten really drunk and slept with Millicent Bullstrode.  
  
He shuddered in the stiff night air. He didn't remember that night, and he doubted he would ever want to. Who could have ever imagined he could get that drunk.  
  
He had worried about his father's vengeance, but surprisingly there was none. In the end, Draco had just been part of a deal. Everet Bullstrode, her father, was quite a large hand in the ministry, and Lucius had needed some illegal substances.  
  
In the end, Draco could only do as his father wished. His whole life was choreographed, scripted and he did only as his father wished. What else was there to do?  
  
In the end, Draco was the good little boy, playing the big bad boy.  
  
But climbing up the side of a tower wasn't exactly the best time to reminisce. He usually saved that for History of Magic, where his eyes weren't the only ones glazed over.  
  
She had climbed up easily, gripping the strange ornaments adorning the tower. But they shifted under his hands, threatening deafeningly of what would happen if he fell.  
  
The ground was a long way away. And he guessed it would seem a little suspicious if they found his corpse lying on the ground, after trying to climb an enormous tower at. he resisted the impulse to look at his watch. After all this time, his watch mattered more than he did.  
  
He cared more about his underwear than his pulse.  
  
When his life wasn't his own, these still were, his shoes, his watch, his socks. Long after he was gone, they would remain, and like him, no one would care. Even when no one was left to him, they would still be there; if even in pieces, or those strange worlds vanished matter went.  
  
He would be dead, and his body well disposed of.  
  
In the end, he feared his life more than his own death, those muted spaces between words in a conversation. This life was just killing time, hanging around till the end. But knowing Dumbledore it wouldn't come quickly.  
  
They didn't use Avada Kedavra. They were "the good guys" so of course his end would be painful and drawn out. Didn't they see there are things worse than death?  
  
But after climbing, nearly falling, contemplating death, climbing, falling, catching on, climbing, nearly falling, climbing, he saw a pale arm reaching down for him. She had small hands, he noticed, as she pulled him onto the domed roof. They were so cold he almost felt the temptation to pull away.  
  
The night was pitch black, despite the pallid moon and stars determinedly twinkling in the sky. He hadn't been here in so long. He hadn't needed or wanted privacy in a while, it felt like he was turning back to a page in a book of his life, a page long forgotten about.  
  
He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. Draco wondered if beating his head repeatedly against the domed astronomy tower roof would help.  
  
Yeah that would make him seem sane.  
  
Her feelings weren't that much different, though she didn't tend to think of beating her head against things quite as often. The bitter night breeze coiled its frozen hands around her tiny frame and leisurely crept through her robes into her nightgown. Silently trembling she turned back to Draco, as he was determinedly avoiding eye contact with her.  
  
Against her own unnoticed pleas Ethany saw she still hadn't let go of his cold hand as she had pulled him up the tower. He was on the roof but she didn't let go. he still felt her icy hands in his, but they were warm.  
  
He still didn't pull away. Neither did she.  
  
But of course still completely refused to admit to anything. 


	4. The Hunt

The Reader of Books  
  
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,  
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is  
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)  
  
AN: YES!!! An update. I haven't abandoned you. . Woot!!! 4 chapters. very proud of myself at this point . all I can say is, in the words of my kindergarten teacher ,"adjectives are my friends".  
  
thank you so much for helping me Sophia!!! (KandiiKane)  
  
~^~^~Chapter Four - The Hunt~^~^~  
  
"She is dead my lord"  
  
"Dead?"  
  
"I vialed her blood myself, lord. She is truly dead" Lucius Malfoy proclaimed, his chest bloating with pride, eyes still gleaming with the ecstasy of his kill.  
  
The hunt. The capture. The conquest. They were his existence, his being. Even after so many victims the rapture was still there, the delight in torture; the jubilation of slaughter.  
  
Death was his joy.  
  
"Crucio!" a harsh cry echoed, wracking spasms of pain through Lucius's body, each echo rippling his pain further.  
  
"You fool! Does your bloodlust impair thought? Her blood is not enough!"  
  
"My lord, I-" Malfoy halted, his voice echoing the torture of his body, "I could not-" he inhaled sharply, a spiked boot tearing his side as he writhed with pain on the cold stone of the Dark Lord's hall.  
  
Above him, the sky swirled with stars, strangely clear of autumn rain, a paltry impersonation of the Hogwarts roof.  
  
"She was the last silver! You were told to escort her here!" Lord Voldemort stood above the convulsing form of Lucius Malfoy, his crimson eyes burning with a rage only he could muster.  
  
Beside him, the pitiful figure of Peter Pettigrew twitched; dim eyes alight with malice at Malfoys pain, whispering frenzied words into the Dark Lords ignoring ears.  
  
"Kill him, lord, kill him. He has betrayed you once, he shall again, kill him! Kill him." Wormtail's words frenzied, his hate rising like bile through his mind.  
  
"My lord, mercy." Malfoy's voice withered, blood obscuring his eyes, dripping freely from his forehead," I." he collapsed, unconscious, skull resounding dully off the floor.  
  
Lord Voldemort's eyes hardened, his disfigured face setting into an empty remnant of a smirk.  
  
"Dispose of him" he muttered, mouth resuming its decaying scowl as his predicament loomed forward. Behind him Wormtail scurried forward, flicking his wand at Malfoy's unconscious form.  
  
"Lord-"  
  
"He is to live, Wormtail."  
  
Pettigrew flinched at the cold use of his marauder name, yet even he did not dare reprimand the Dark Lord. Instead, as always, he bowed his dumpy figure down, and scampered off to leave Malfoy to wake up in a ditch.  
  
Sharply Lord Voldemort waved his hand, signalling the servants and house elves to leave, taking all light with them.  
  
Without the torches the hall soon froze, frozen air seeping from the walls. Silencing the room with his wand he paced, talking harshly into the darkness.  
  
"What to do, what to do." The dark lord murmured, wandering back and forth in the dusk shrouded hall, each step committed to memory. Even in his own presence Lord Voldemort was not to be made a fool of by a shadowed wall.  
  
His plan was demolished, wiped out by a single blow of Malfoy's wand, and there was no substitute.  
  
Kaevira was the last Silverblood, and she knew it. Even in her death she laughed at their stupidity.  
  
To his right the body lay, pale with death, drained of blood, her hands still crossed over her chest in a parody of respect, eyes staring blankly into the darkness.  
  
She had reared no children. All that was left of the Silverblood race lay desiccated on his cold, stone floor, her face still alight with the laughter she had died through.  
  
She was the most powerful being in all creation and she laughed at her death, and welcomed it with wide-open arms.  
  
Her one child died, nearly seventeen years ago now. He was sure of that. He had inspected the child's frozen carcass himself. Ethany Silvress died on a forest floor seventeen years ago, barely receiving her first breath before it was her last.  
  
Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of. disconcertion.  
  
"She is dead," The dark lord proclaimed to the star-strewn night sky enchanted above him.  
  
"She is dead!"  
  
________________  
  
Greasy black gloom permeated the still, dark air, slinking under doorways and clawing at chimneys, thick with the unknown dread of night.  
  
Yet through this supposed impenetrable night a twitching figure emerged, trudging wearily through the gloom, wand held high to a levitating form in front of him.  
  
This was not the first time Peter Pettigrew had walked this path with Malfoy's unconscious form floating before him. The dark lord's magic was powerful, and when fully unleashed. he could kill instantly. Even a Cruciatus curse to half the power of the dark lord was prone to cause loss of consciousness, and Malfoy was weak, unlike his son.  
  
Fearlessly Pettigrew staggered through the darkness, using his own brand of idiocy, so often confused with bravery, to ignore the terrors of the night. He didn't have the mind to even conceive the creatures of the night awaiting him.  
  
Instead his simple mind roamed other things.  
  
I will kill him.  
  
Soon. This body will soon be a corpse. I will drink his blood and laugh.  
  
Wormtails eyes glowed with the prospect of his maniacal dreams, anything else forgotten without a thought.  
  
He would betray his master soon. Since when was the rat a creature of loyalty?  
  
They would all welcome him back. The business with James would soon enough be forgotten. He would be a marauder again.  
  
Wormtails darkly stained teeth glowed with moonlight as he smiled gently at the stars. Soon everything would be right again.  
  
Through the obscuring shadows of the forest a dark figure took form.  
  
________________________  
  
Shoulders hunching, teeth lacerating pale flesh, the werewolf took dignity from its meal, soft meat spilling dark blood from his jaws, caught in the frenzy of the hunt.  
  
The poor lumbering insult of a man possessed barely a chance before he was devoured. If possible, the wolf may have even felt pity on the destitute creature dying below him.  
  
But he did not. This creature was a meal, and the beast had not yet finished his feed.  
  
Perhaps, in the morning, the human taking form from this creature would pity the poor soul it had destroyed.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
Steadily the werewolf's meal ensued, feeble bones snapping easily, spilling their fleshy marrow on the blood-spattered mud below, scattering more than enough evidence for them to know of Peter Pettigrew's fate.  
  
Finishing his worthy meal, the wolf searched languidly for the other creature, it's feline grace stretching through a pale cover of matted hair.  
  
The first one had carried it, floating in front of him. Where did it go?  
  
Searching tiredly the wolf soon surrendered to the unavoidable onslaught of weariness.  
  
Softly curling around itself like a cat, warm in its little bundle of fur, the werewolf slept, blood from the wormtails final death still staining its muzzle.  
  
____________  
  
Deep down a ravine, Lucius Malfoy slept on, thoroughly unaware of the decaying stench of death surrounding the moonlight forest he slept in, blissful in his sleep.  
  
Not that he would be crying at the prospect of the rat's death. 


	5. Something or Other

The Reader of Books  
  
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (Except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,  
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is  
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)  
  
A/N: AH-HEM!!! BIG THINGS TO SAY!!! OK, GO BACK AND RE-READ chapter 2. I'VE  
REWRITTEN IT A BIT (JUST THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN THEM) IT'S KIND OF  
IMPORTANT. SORRY!!!  
  
ok, lots of POV switch in this one. PLEASE REVIEW! My ego is starting to deflate. please, please, PLEASE!!! Anyway. like the title for this one. Kinda more depth to Ethany. ummm. REVIEW!!! C'mon. anyway, this is back at Hogwarts, same time Wormtail's being eaten. and yeah.  
  
PS. Can someone help me with my summary? Right now it's  
  
She was always alone, hidden by a book... But who is she? And why is Draco so obsessed... suicide, depression murder and more!  
  
But I've gotten nearly no reviews! Please help me!!! As far as everyone says, my story is good. isn't it?  
  
~^~^~Chapter Five - Something or Other~^~^~  
  
Draco sat on the rooftop, his mind swimming from her hand in his. He didn't dare look up, afraid of. something. Of looking up into her eyes to see they weren't there. Or maybe looking up into them to see she wasn't there.  
  
So he just sat, his legs lost somewhere between leaping up, running off the tower, coward as he was, and sitting, of finally staring up into her eyes.  
  
He did neither. Instead he just found himself, once again, lost between something.  
  
As always. At this point, it was hard to say if the coward was winning. It usually did.  
  
He seemed to never finish anything, always so afraid of the end, whatever it was.  
  
He could have almost laughed, if it wasn't quite so hideously depressing.  
  
This was the great evil of Slytherin.  
  
Slowly he tried raise his head, repeating half-formed sentences hysterically over in his mind, reassuring himself to the point of panic, his mind churning as always with half-formed ghosts of his father, reminders of what he was, by blood, by name.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
He barely even felt her hand leave his own, barely felt her presence leave.  
  
Prick by agonizing prick air crept over his hand, stabbing cold into the tender skin where she had been, less than moments ago.  
  
She was gone.  
  
All ghosts floating about his mind forgotten, Draco's mind escaped its prison, looking up to see a last brown lock of hair disappear over the tower roof.  
  
Barely thinking he leapt forward, not noticing his chest crushed against the withered stone of the castle, his mind still blacking out at her hand in his, even though it had left.  
  
What the hell was going on?  
  
He didn't even notice his fingers slipping. It was almost minutes before he even realised he was falling.  
  
Hours later, the ghosts of Draco's mind laughed over his oblivious form, unconscious on the stone roof of the charms corridor as clouds gathered over the clear sky above.  
  
__________  
  
Draco woke up 8 and a half hours later to his heart pounding through his ears, rain prancing over his face. He checked his watch.  
  
1:48  
  
5 hours late for class.  
  
Great. Another detention to add to the list.  
  
He had the strangest feeling by the end of this week he would be doing at least three consecutive life sentences of detention.  
  
He had missed transfiguration. Again. McGonagall wouldn't take that.  
  
This was his something like his 4th day late this week. He didn't even bother trying to keep track anymore. For the amount he was learning at this point he might as well just skip transfiguration anyway. Might as well skip everything.  
  
He would get perfect marks anyway. For 6 years now Snape had been fixing his grades, attendance, conduct records.  
  
I mean, come on. He had beaten the crap out of Dumbledore's glory boy how many times now?  
  
What was even the point of his going to school if nothing he did mattered?  
  
He was just a cheap form of surveillance at this point. But then, the Malfoy equivalent to cheap was far higher than most.  
  
And of course he had the wonderful job of exuding the Malfoy menace. Acting evil. Generally pissing off anybody "good". Saving his place in the monarchy early.  
  
It was funny at least, though not exactly a hell of a lot of fun.  
  
He gradually peeled himself off the roof, still groggily stumbling about, his eyes bleary with sleep. He knew he should go to the hospital wing. He had just spent 8 hours knocked out after falling off a tower onto a stone rooftop and waking up soaked with rain, barely able to see.  
  
Instead Draco found himself minutes later, huddling for shelter under a gargoyle, chain-smoking damp cigarettes, staring blankly into the impossible depths of the sky.  
  
He probably wasn't allowed to smoke at school. He really didn't care. What was the point of forbidding it when everything was curable?  
  
Cancer wasn't a big deal when all it took was a potion to clear your lungs, tidy up your heart with a few charms, clean off everything else with a cleansing hex.  
  
Nothing much was a big deal when magic wiped it all away, leaving everything shiny and clean.  
  
Eventually his trembling hands steadied, clearing his mind.  
  
What the hell had happened?  
  
Had it happened?  
  
About two corridors away and three floors up, a green-eyed girl called Ethany's mind ran over the same things.  
  
____  
  
Divination.  
  
Most people chose classes they were good at, or things that interested them. Those few who could be bothered chose classes that challenged them, those who couldn't copied their friends.  
  
Ethany did none of these things. She was good at most things, but wasn't allowed to be. You cannot know hell if you have never felt the pain of knowing and pretending not to. She had acted. well not stupid, but so excruciatingly average, for nearly two years now.  
  
She couldn't choose those classes that interested her, hating the pain of loving something so much, but never being able to surpass at it too much to hurt herself that way. Except for astronomy. She never could quit astronomy.  
  
Nothing much was a challenge anymore. Her mind just figured things out in it's own demented way, leaving nothing left to wonder.  
  
She didn't have anybody to copy.  
  
So she chose the classes that were funniest. Or at least had potential.  
  
Nothing beat potions. So many people had dropped it that the whole class had been cluttered together, those few Gryffindors forced into the class by parents or ambition, those fewer Hufflepuffs who actually qualified for advanced potions and a hell of a lot of Slytherins. The class had started to become popular for Ravenclaw too, their merging with Slytherin making them semi-acceptable to Professor Snape.  
  
Potions came less now that Snape took up Defence Against the Dark Arts, held only on Friday afternoons, annihilating all hope of the weekend within minutes of class. That in itself was funny enough.  
  
Nothing could really compare to all four houses battling each other while Neville Longbottom blew up cauldrons and melted their shoes. A lot of fun for an observer.  
  
Not so fun if your shoes were being melted. But Ethany had learned long ago to keep out of range.  
  
It was amazing that Neville had even gotten into advanced potions, but he hadn't done as badly as suspected in his OWL's, and his grandmother had good connections with the school board.  
  
And of course his father had excelled in potions.  
  
Neville's grandmother never did really admit that he wasn't his father. She had forced him to stay in potions, despite his completely inept ability, and tendencies to light people on fire.  
  
At this point even Hermione feared too much for her life to help him much.  
  
But Ethany didn't pity him. He received far too much of that.  
  
She respected him.sort of. He had power. No one saw it, but he had power.  
  
He was far more than anybody could ever expect of him. His magic. She could see it so clearly now, feel it in the air around him.  
  
His veins were charged with magic.  
  
This was her curse.  
  
She was a Silverblood. A creature supposedly made of magic itself. Supremely powerful. Only one ever existed.  
  
She was the last Silverblood, to be exact.  
  
Ethany's mother died, so the blood was passed to her. She didn't really know how it worked. All she know was she saw her mother die, and woke up the most powerful being known to magic.  
  
It kinda sucked.  
  
Ethany wasn't a power person. She didn't have it, and didn't particularly want it.  
  
Well, until yesterday at least. Now she had power, and didn't particularly want it.  
  
And it still sucked.  
  
She was in Divination, hiding behind yet another book, not meeting anybody's eyes. It was so easy to hide.  
  
No one had even noticed her yet. She had been at this school for 2 years, and no-one had noticed her.  
  
Ethany's mind froze on that thought, cursing the words again, and again. He had found her.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
She had offered him her hand, on the tower. What would he do but take it? She hadn't even thought.  
  
When he touched her. It. burned. She couldn't describe it. It happened when anyone touched her. She couldn't imagine what he thought. She had just ran. She wasn't even sure if he was alive.  
  
She had seen him fall. She should have saved him.  
  
____________  
  
"Fuck!" Draco cursed, trying to ignite his wand, flicking the burnt stub of his cigarette over the castle's edge as he struggled to pull a new one out of his waterlogged pocket. Rain was pouring down around him, the gargoyle hovering above barely defending him from the endless barrage of rain. He didn't bother with a waterproofing spell.  
  
He didn't seem to bother with much anymore. Maybe he never did. It was kind of hard to remember. And he didn't particularly want to.  
  
It was getting harder to remember things after 17 years of trying to lose them. They were all baggage, and they were far too heavy to carry around. He had lost nearly every memory he could, stuffing them away somewhere.  
  
Draco sighed, slamming his head back into the gargoyle, its uncanny skull floating menacingly above him, skeleton arms cradling around him. It was hugging him.  
  
He shuddered at the thought and stood up, stumbling away from the stone demon. He was too tired to deal with this, whatever it was.  
  
It was only two o'clock. He knew he should probably go to class. What did he have now, anyway? Thursday. double Herbology.  
  
He sighed, remembering he was to meet with his father tonight. It had to be in the dungeons, it was the only secure fireplace. He would have to use his invisibility cloak.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
Where did he leave the cloak?  
  
He had taken it last night.  
  
He couldn't get down to the dungeons without it. Teachers patrolled the nights now, not everywhere, but around the outer corridors, and dungeons. The patrols were pretty pointless, but they weren't really there for much of a reason other than a show. They were there to discourage, not to actually enforce.  
  
He should have panicked, or something. But it just didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing did.  
  
Still.  
  
He should have felt something.  
  
The strange thing was, he knew what he should feel. He knew all the reasons for every feeling he should have had.  
  
He didn't feel a damn thing.  
  
Slowly Draco walked over to the edge, staring down into the turbid puddles storeys below, muddy ground stomped with shoe prints.  
  
He still had time for Herbology. Swinging himself down over the edge and through a window, shaking his head agitatedly, trying to clear his mind of Ethany. He could agonise over her later.  
  
________  
  
A couple of tables away, Padma Patil stuck her hand up in the air, waving it manically, trying to signal Professor Trelawney. It seemed she couldn't see very well through those shiny, oversized glasses of hers.  
  
Over her book Ethany saw the scene, amazed that anybody other than her had even chosen this class. But then again, they made good camouflage.  
  
Ethany's eyes lingered for a moment on Padma's back, remembering her words to Draco the other night, thinking of the face on the other side. Padma had changed so much over the years. Her mouth was firmer, her hair straighter. She didn't bother with make-up anymore. Her sister, Parvarti, had left months ago, running to America with their mother, hiding. Padma had refused to hide. Ethany didn't know the details. But Padma left her family, and she changed. Ethany still didn't like her. She was still a giggling twit.  
  
But it was nevertheless strange. Padma had never seemed the type to defy, well, anyone. But then maybe that was the core of her story. Defiance. Why she looked so different, why she did things differently.  
  
Maybe it mattered, maybe it didn't. That wasn't the point. Why did there even have to be a point?  
  
Ethany shook her head. She couldn't stand another minute in this stupid, stuffy room.  
  
She could sneak out. It wasn't hard. Actually it didn't involve a lot of sneaking. It consisted of standing up, walking over to the stupid trap door, and jumping down.  
  
Hiding wasn't even fun anymore. She was too good at it.  
  
Maybe not, her mind hinted, Draco Malfoy's scowling face swimming to the surface.  
  
She slammed her mind shut again.  
  
Trelawney was saying something about " the mystic forces came to me last night, children", arms waving around her mystical way.  
  
Ok, no alternative. She was leaving.  
  
A/N. Any good? Seriously, I have no idea. (my friend Sophia couldn't proofread this one, she goes to a different school, and she's in exams, so she's not allowed on the computer!  
  
ok, no one got the last chapter. It'll make sense later. Ok? (Come on. Put the clues together. girl called Ethany died 17 years ago. 17 year old girl called Ethany is still alive.) 


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